


Be Good for You, Be Good to Me

by orphan_account



Category: due South
Genre: Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, M/M, Masturbation, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser's been so good for Ray and he'd like to be even better.</p><p>Unauthorized sequel to "Sweeter for the Wait" by Spuffyduds, who has granted blanket permission for these sorts of textual hijinx with her work but was otherwise uninvolved in the production of this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be Good for You, Be Good to Me

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Sweeter for the Wait](https://archiveofourown.org/works/130775) by [spuffyduds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds). 



Fraser has been good for Ray, so good it hurts sometimes. He spent years protecting Ray from the world, sometimes from Ray himself, and, for the longest time, sometimes even from Fraser himself, until that one night Ray had shown him that whatever protection Ray Kowalski might need from life, he doesn’t need to be protected from Fraser.

He demonstrated that time and again, showed Fraser that he could control him, sometimes with a command, sometimes even with a look. Fraser needed that, he had come to understand, needed to know that he couldn’t hurt Ray like he’d hurt so many other people. Ray would never let him.

Ray had even taken control of Fraser’s own sexuality away from him, within limits. Not long after they’d gone from friends to lovers, Ray had looked at Fraser with a wicked gleam in his eye and told him he wasn’t allowed to achieve orgasm for three days.

Fraser had persevered, even though Ray had given him at least one very explicit opportunity to bow out, and a dozen more tacit glances that said, “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” and Fraser had gritted his teeth and pretended that not coming was, while difficult, not bordering on unendurable either. Even while Ray was taking his own pleasure from Fraser, from his mouth, from his appearance, from his presence. One night Ray had turned Fraser away from him, then stroked himself until he came on Fraser’s back, torturing Fraser with the mere sound of Ray’s hand on his own skin, the ragged warmth of his breath on Fraser’s skin, the slight moans Ray made (and Ray was not being theatrical or exaggerated for Fraser’s benefit; Fraser could tell the difference and it made him all the harder, all the hotter for what Ray was denying him).

When Ray had finally allowed Fraser to come, giving him his mouth, the pleasure, so long deferred and now only allowed because Ray wanted it, was overwhelming. It was only later, after they had laughed and slept, that Ray had reminded Fraser that Ray’s goal hadn’t necessarily been solely to drive Fraser out of his mind with desire to make his inevitable release that much more satisfying.

The next day, Ray had still been pleased with Fraser, pleased that Fraser had, on his own initiative, stopped Ray from allowing Fraser’s orgasm because Fraser himself was no longer sure if enough time had passed, if he had gone without satisfaction long enough for Ray’s purposes. Ray nipped at his ear playfully to wake him up (Fraser thought it was a tribute to Ray’s evil genius that it was Fraser who’d slept so deeply he’d had to be woken up), then kissed him while jerking him off with strokes that were somehow both sweet and authoritative, swallowing every noise Fraser tried to make as he came again, his orgasm nearly as strong as the one the night before.

“Thank you, Ray,” Fraser gasped, once Ray stopped kissing him.

“For….?” Ray prompted. When they were intimate, Ray liked to hear Fraser’s voice, forming complete sentences, speaking correctly as though he still had some level of coherence available to him. Fraser knew it was because Ray liked stripping him of his language just as he stripped him of his clothes and all his other defenses.

“For allowing my orgasm. Letting me come. Again.”

“And….?”

“For masturbating me. Jerking my cock.”

“Like….?

Dear God, Fraser hoped Ray was leading him where he suddenly wanted so desperately to go.

“As if you owned it, Ray,” Fraser murmured submissively, trying to hide his eagerness for what he hoped Ray intended.

“’Cause I do,” Ray said, grinning, and Fraser had to hide his own grin, because while he was delighted that they both continued to understand each other so well even in this, baring his teeth and grinning like a lunatic would send exactly the opposite signal from the one he wanted to send in this situation.

Instead, Fraser lowered his eyes. “Yes, Ray,” he said quietly.

“And what did we talk about last night?”

“I’m not allowed to masturbate, to touch my cock until I come.”

“Unless….?”

“You tell me to,” Fraser gasped again. Oh, God, Ray had noticed Fraser’s reaction, that first night of denial, not just to being told he wasn’t allowed to masturbate without explicit permission, but to the idea that Ray might allow it by commanding it.

“That’s right,” Ray said, pleased. “And I’m going to. Tell you to. Tonight. So you just wrap your little Mountie mind around that while you’re blowing me right now.”

And Fraser turned, twisting until Ray’s cock was in his mouth, and he sucked him with all his concentration, not really giving thought to Ray’s plans, not really giving thought to anything at all except the weight and taste of Ray in his mouth, not really even hearing Ray’s moans as he got closer and closer and finally fell over the edge.

But Fraser certainly thought of it later, when he was at the consulate, reviewing the paperwork he’d done the day before in a fever of lust and anticipation. He found blessedly few mistakes, although he was once again in that same fever, so for all he knew he may have mistaken “Saskatoon” and “Saskatchewan” for the same word. At least he hadn’t actually written “Dear God, my cock aches and if Ray doesn’t let me come tonight I really will break down and cry in front of him” instead of “International Maritime Law” in the box for "Proposed Course of Study" on Mary Lancaster’s student visa application for Dalhousie. He’d been almost certain he’d slipped up on that last form of the day, and had held it back just in case.

It was, in fact, perfectly done, and he guiltily wrote the highly unofficial immigration code for “expedite & approve” under “Usage de bureau seulement” and wondered how in the world he was supposed to last the rest of the day, and how he was going to do what Ray was going to tell him to do.

Finally, they were both alone, Ray having picked Fraser up, pizza already on the passenger seat, waiting to be held safely in Fraser’s lap until it came to its inevitable demise. Fraser had anticipated that Ray would make a demand of him as soon as privacy allowed, perhaps saying something like, “Pull out yer cock and jizz like ya mean it.”

Fraser’s imagination of Ray’s sexual demands was still sorely deficient, he knew. 

Ray, of course, said nothing of the kind. After he encouraged Fraser to get comfortable, which Fraser somehow knew meant only to remove his outer trappings, they ate their pizza. Neither one was particularly conversational, until Ray took Frasier’s hand and led him gently, so very gently, to the bedroom. 

Ray sat down in a chair in the corner, back to front, leaning his arms on the back of the chair. “Show me,” he said, his voice as soft as his hand had been.

Fraser blushed. This was so much worse, so much better, than a crude command. Ray wasn’t asking, but he also wasn’t demanding. He truly wanted Fraser to show him: show him what he’d done when it had been just himself, when he submitted to his own needs, admitted so rarely even to himself. What he had been like in those first few days after Ray had reminded him of what sex could be, what lovemaking should be.

Tentatively, he ran his hands over his own body, not removing his Henley or his trousers. He couldn’t bear it if Ray interrupted him with further instructions, as if to tell him he was doing something wrong, in either the act itself or the way he chose to carry it out.

Ray remained silent. At first, Fraser tried to look at him, but that was wrong, that avid gaze was arousing but wasn’t available to him when he had done this before. Fraser stared resolutely at the wall above the bed, not even allowing Ray into the periphery of his vision.

He felt himself thicken and grow hard, much faster than he would’ve thought, as the material of his clothes alternately bunched and spread under his hands. It wasn’t long before he was panting, shallow and fast, heart pounding, his autonomic functions drowning out any other harsh breaths the room’s warm air might be carrying on its molecules.

He knew that Ray’s “Show me” wasn’t a demand that he give Ray a show, but rather that he show Ray who he was when he was most himself. The self he would willingly, happily give over entirely to Ray. And he moaned aloud at that thought, the idea that this might not be merely an occasional game, but that he might let Ray control him like this always. Ray had the strength to keep Fraser in check, to protect them both from what Fraser knew he was always in danger of becoming.

He’d heard a phrase once, “the wise restraints that make men free,” and he was fairly confident it wasn’t meant to apply to situations such as these. Yet it did. Under Ray’s control, his command, his watchful gaze, Fraser was free to be himself. The idea that it could always be like this, that Ray would help shoulder the burden of Fraser’s desires, made Fraser feel loved and safe, and as though the two things were the same.

Beyond the philosophical, however, Fraser found the idea unbearably arousing. He’d meant to show Ray what he did when he was alone, but he wasn’t alone anymore.

As he pulled his cock out, he shifted so that he was once more looking at Ray. “It’s yours,” he said, his voice unintentionally harsh with desire. “Please, God, Ray, please, it’s yours, I’m yours, please let me be yours,” he begged. He was completely unable to express the ideas that had been tumbling through his mind, although images were coming to him. Images of restraint, of submission, of days or even weeks of denial, all under Ray’s control flooded his mind, and he somehow managed to make one last decision, the choice to start as he meant to continue.

“Please, Ray. Not until you tell me to,” he said, even as his hand moved faster, spreading pre-ejaculate around his cock, his other hand reaching for his balls.

“God, Fraser,” Ray said, his voice choked, his face full of the same awe Fraser had seen the night before when he’d forced himself not to come for fear that Ray didn’t want it yet. Dimly, Fraser was aware that Ray had stood up, knocking the chair over, and was moving toward him. All Fraser cared about was tilting his head in whatever direction he needed to in order to keep looking at Ray.

“Please,” he said, and he could no longer hold eye contact with Ray, because Ray was crowding him, holding him, whispering, “I got you. You can let go, I’ve got you.”

“Yes,” Fraser shouted as his orgasm ripped through him, saying yes not only to the pleasure of his hand, but to Ray. Ray would always have him, however he wanted him.

**Author's Note:**

> "The wise restraints that make men free" is something the dean of Harvard Law says at commencement just before flinging degrees at graduates. Please, feel free to use this knowledge to make your own lawyer jokes or write your own kinky "Suits" fanfiction. I share because I care.


End file.
